


Machu Picchu

by wheel_pen



Series: Miscellaneous Vampire Diaries Stories [5]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Stefan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stefan is going through a rough patch without Elena. Luckily he always has Damon. Just a few scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Machu Picchu

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate being able to play in this universe.

The bell above the door jangled and Carlos looked up out of habit, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the young man who’d entered the convenience store. It was hard to tell his exact age, maybe twenty; but it was the pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, and dirty clothes that drew Carlos’s attention. Homeless runaway, maybe even a junkie—though he wore a heavy ring on one finger, which surely would’ve been pawned or stolen by now. Maybe just someone having a bad day, then. Carlos didn’t need _any_ of those people, though; this was a little gas station convenience store, not a shelter. Two teenage girls who’d been counting their cash for Cheetos and Gummy Bears took one look at the stranger wandering the aisles like a zombie and scooted uncomfortably out the door, no doubt headed to the snack shop across the street.

Carlos watched him with decreasing discretion until he finally shuffled up to the counter. “Can I get a large coffee?” he asked in a mumble, eyes skittering everywhere but at Carlos.

“And how are you gonna pay for that?” Carlos asked flatly, not moving a muscle towards the coffee pot.

Intense green eyes suddenly burned into his, eclipsing everything else in the world. “I already did,” said the young man.

Of course he had. Carlos distinctly remembered taking the dollar bill, crumpled and unpleasantly warm, ringing up the sale, handing back the change, trying not to let his fingers touch the other man’s, which were visibly grimy. “Right,” Carlos replied, still thoroughly unimpressed with this character, even if he wasn’t completely penniless. He pushed himself away from the counter and filled a paper cup with coffee, not asking if cream or sugar was desired, and snapped a lid on it pointedly. “Here.”

The young man took the cup, oddly not flinching at the heat of the coffee through the thin cardboard—Carlos was used to it by now—and sipped it casually, still standing before the counter. “Anything else?” Carlos prompted brusquely.

“I guess… I could use something to eat,” he replied, in a speculative tone, as though this was a novel concept for him.

“Look, I haven’t got all day, buddy,” Carlos informed him, though before he’d come in the clerk had been dying of boredom. “If you’ve got the cash, pick something out and pay for it.”

“What I eat, I don’t pay for in cash,” the young man answered. And before Carlos could protest this off-kilter statement—he pounced.

**

The sign on the convenience store said ‘closed,’ but Damon didn’t let that stop him. The lock was a puny one, easy to snap without looking too suspicious. The store itself was empty, so he wandered warily to the back, the chilly cold-storage room behind the refrigerator cases. Three employees huddled in a corner, terrified and crying; on the floor in front of them was the body of a man, blood oozing from a huge gash in his neck across the cold concrete floor. Stefan was perched atop a pile of milk crates, studiously tapping at his iPhone. Dried blood crusted his chin and the front of his shirt.

“Well,” Damon opened dryly, “at least you’re eating.”

“Busy,” Stefan said, without looking up from his phone.

Damon glanced at his own phone. “You’re not busy, you’ve been playing Words with Friends for the last three hours. With no friends, by the way.”

After a moment—because he’d finished a round, not because Damon was there—Stefan glanced up at him. His eyes were at once hard and unfocused, which Damon did not like. “What are you doing here?”

“GPS said you’d been at a Quik-Stop for three hours,” Damon shrugged, aggressively casual. “Not really a quick stop.”

Stefan took a moment to think this over, then crushed the iPhone in his hand like it was an empty beer can. This drew a frightened squeak from one of the three people in the corner, which was stifled when Damon and Stefan glanced at them in annoyance.

“Let’s go somewhere nicer and chat,” Damon suggested. “I could use a drink.”

Stefan laughed unexpectedly at this, giggled almost, in an unsettling way. He didn’t move, though, except to drop the ruined iPhone on the floor and play with his ring. Damon dared to stroll closer. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Stefan turned away, resistant. “You need to eat, and you’re just wasting this,” Damon added more forcefully, indicating the body on the floor. It was obvious his brother had not been taking care of himself. He grabbed Stefan’s arm but he wrenched it away, hopping off the milk crates to pace around the floor. “Stop acting crazy,” Damon snapped. It was not perhaps the clinically recommended method, but compassion and understanding sat poorly on him.

“Crazy,” Stefan repeated thoughtfully, freezing in place. “That’s what she said.”

In an instant everything changed and Damon’s blood ran cold. “She?” he repeated. “Stefan, where’s Elena?”

“She left,” his brother replied simply.

“But she’s okay?” Damon pressed.

“She said it was a crazy life, and she didn’t want it anymore,” Stefan went on. His tone was hollow, like nothing really mattered now.

But there was one thing that urgently mattered to Damon. “Stefan, is Elena okay? Where is she?”

“I guess. I don’t know,” he replied unhelpfully.

“Did you hurt her?”

Green eyes snapped up to meet blue. “No. I would never hurt Elena.”

He sounded insulted, which was normal enough that Damon sighed with relief. “Did you turn her?”

“No, she didn’t want that.”

Damon did not think that was a very sensible decision, but Elena had always been stubbornly attached to her humanity. “Come on, let’s go,” he repeated, reaching for Stefan again. “G-d, you’re filthy.”

“Where are we going?” Stefan asked, suddenly more docile.

“My place. South.” Damon turned to the three live humans, compelling them one by one. “Destroy any evidence we were here, like security camera footage. Forget everything that happened since you came to work today. Get cleaned up and go home.”

“You’re so good at that,” Stefan praised foggily. “So succinct. I get caught up in the details, all the little details…”

“I know you do,” Damon placated, hustling him out the back door. “Let’s go.”

**

His place was _very_ south, a stone cottage perched on the slopes of the Andes, in the shadow of Machu Picchu. Remote, but in this day and age, still electronically accessible—thank G-d for Netflix instant viewing—and the local villagers kept themselves to themselves. If the odd goat or llama, or even person, went missing, well, the cliffs here were steep and the ravines below impossible to navigate.

First up was a shower, while Damon burned his brother’s clothes. Then a feast of llama and goat, with a guinea pig chaser. No people today, Damon didn’t think he was ready for that. Then another shower, since Stefan had torn into his meal with gusto.

Which didn’t necessarily mean he was feeling better. “Stop depleting my fresh water supply,” Damon complained, only half in jest, as Stefan let the outdoor shower pour over him. When he turned back to his brother, however, Damon could see he hadn’t been staring at the mountain view, no matter how magnificent.

“When did Elena leave?” Damon asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter, and Stefan flinched as though stabbed.

“I guess it’s been a few years,” he admitted.

Damon leaned against the edge of the shower and looked him over. “You’ve been coping well,” he commented sarcastically. “Have you seen anyone?” he went on after a moment, softening his tone slightly.

“No,” Stefan replied, shaking his head. He hadn’t run into any old friends or acquaintances, even enemies for that matter, for quite some time. “I’ve just been… alone.”

Stefan was not someone who enjoyed being alone. “Well, you’ve got _me_ now!” Damon pointed out, with obviously fake brilliance.

Stefan responded to this with more enthusiasm than it was due. “Do I?” he asked, eyes meeting Damon’s sharply. The longing in them was deep, pathetic even, self-deluding—but in the moment, sincere in its way, and Damon could never resist it. He and Stefan were meant to be together, forever, because no one else could understand what they’d been through, from the very moment of their birth as humans. They didn’t have to be together every day, every year; in fact that would probably lead to fratricide (and almost had several times). But whenever they came back together, it was like no time had passed at all. However one or the other might protest that they’d changed, that things were different now, they both knew what the other really needed.

“There’s a nice view from the bedroom,” Damon said. It was his version of subtle.

“There’s a nice view from here,” Stefan countered, and dragged him under the water.

**

Hours later they lay on the cobblestones of the inner courtyard, and the only thing pouring down on them was sunlight. Damon licked his way down Stefan’s body, enjoying the reactions, but knowing they were fleeting. Stefan craved affection; when desperate he would take it from anyone, and who knew him better than his brother? They had long ago ceased to worry about the societal taboo, which seemed rather foolish to those who sustained themselves by killing other humans. No one was hurt by this evolution of their relationship, and that was their new benchmark.

“Why did Elena leave?” Damon wanted to know. Far from dampening the mood, any emotional rush seemed to intensify it.

Stefan shrugged lazily at first, then tried to answer. “Impermanence,” he finally pronounced.

“That’s ironic,” Damon smirked. Fixed as they were in appearance, changing with the times was often their biggest challenge.

“Moving around, changing stories, never settling down or being honest with anyone,” Stefan elaborated with a sigh.

“That’s really only two different things, and hardly unexpected,” Damon pointed out. “And honesty is overrated.” He bit down, making Stefan wince.

“It wasn’t what she wanted,” he concluded.

“But what do _you_ want?” Damon coaxed tantalizingly. He was so adept at being the voice of self-entitlement, especially where Stefan was concerned. “Do you _miss_ her?” Of course he did. It was etched on his face. “You worked so hard to get her, you should keep her.”

“She’s not a—she’s not a classic car,” Stefan protested, without much energy.


End file.
